


Budapest

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2014-08-06
Packaged: 2018-02-12 02:28:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2092275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint Barton was sent to kill her. He made a different call.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Budapest

**Author's Note:**

> This is a translation of a (really) short story I wrote for a Dutch fanfiction website. Translation is mine, so all mistakes are mine. It's quite a short piece, but nevertheless, enjoy my very first dabble in Clintasha fic!

Of course he came in through the window. 

She’d chosen a room directly under the roof on purpose, knowing he’d take it as a challenge. The old-fashioned alarm clock on the bedside table was counting down the minutes to midnight. She’d draped herself on the bed, positioned exactly right for the light and shadows to accentuate her curves. Her fire-red hair on the pillow made for the only color in the darkened room. When he flung open the window, the sounds of Budapest at night followed him in.

“Clint,” she said, her voice purring like a cat. “So close today.”

They’d been playing this game for weeks, sometimes in the ballrooms with the elite and sometimes in the back alleys with the ragtag criminals. Of course S.H.I.E.L.D. sent their best marksman after her. Her talents were best put to use in someone’s personal space, but he didn’t have to come near her to finish his job.

“Natalia.” He stood by the window, illuminated from the back by the casino on the other side of the street. An arrow rested on his bow, outwardly as calm as she was; she knew they were both ready to fly. She smiled, determined not to make the first move.

“Last chance,” he warned her. “Tell the KGB this place is off-limits to them. Retreat.”

“And if I don’t?” Teasingly, she arched an eyebrow. If anyone could see through the semi-darkness, it would be him. _Hawkeye._

“I never miss.” He tapped the side of his bow.

She sat up a little, leaned on her arm and let her hair fall down the side of her face. “Then shoot.”

With two big steps, he crossed the room and set his arrow at her chest; the tip dented her leather suit, directly over her heart. She gasped for breath, but that was all the time she had for a response. The arrow’s tip slid down her zipper and she heard his bow clatter on the floor, felt his hands where his arrow had been. His fingers traced the pools of light on her body, brought goose-bumps to her arms, then covered her breasts underneath the soft fabric of her shirt. He leaned in and pressed his lips to her mouth.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and caught his wrists; the bed creaked desperately as she reversed their roles. Straddling his legs, she pinned his arms above his head and looked down at him, grinning. Her breath came out in fast, short puffs. He stared up at her calmly, until a light smile curled up one corner of his mouth. She released his wrists and his fingers hooked around the sewn-on letters on the inside of her suit – KGB. With one pull, he tore them off the leather.

“Bull’s eye,” she whispered. “You got me, Clint.”

“I told you…” He pulled her suit off her shoulders. “… I never miss, Natasha.”

She tasted her new name on his lips. Outside, distant bells struck midnight.


End file.
